


I Love You

by SDSlanderson, WolfVenom



Category: Justice League: Gods and Monsters (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Animal Death, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Corruption, Eye Trauma, F/F, F/M, Gods, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Immortality, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Injury, Loss of Trust, M/M, Multi, Mythical Beings & Creatures, References to Aztec Religion & Lore, Singing, Sirens, Torture, Vivisection, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-01 06:44:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14514693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SDSlanderson/pseuds/SDSlanderson, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfVenom/pseuds/WolfVenom
Summary: The infamous pirate captain Hernan Guerra is known across many of Europe and Asian seas as the highest threat the ocean can produce. Each of his successful raids are branded with his fires, and his riches are immeasurable. Though this man is twisted and brutal at best, his honour is always intact, saving many troubled souls and less fortunate like some mutated version of Robin Hood. Turns out, trying to fall out of blows with a debt has him falling in love with his contract instead.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all of my lovely readers!  
> I wanted to start this off with a little story, actually. When I joined this wonderful bang I was excited to work on my story and bring joy to my partner and everyone involved with our collaboration. I was a bit young, naïve, and I've grown in the months it took for me to get this far; so let me explain what I mean.  
> In April of 2018, I lost three of my very close friends in the bus crash that involved the Canadian hockey team: the Humboldt Broncos. These boys were my pals, people I was not always besides, but who cheered me on in passing because they were just good people at heart. I struggled with writing, with living, with coping, but I persevered and survived a hospital visit after a failed suicide attempt on my life. I worried day and night because I had not finished this fic, contemplated dropping out when I had got so far, yet I stuck to it and pulled through, and I'm always a stronger person than I was a day ago.  
> To be honest, I finished this story the very day I posted it, sorry about the procrastination guys, haha. But having this experience with SDS and all of my friends who are apart of the SRB was a memorable experience I would repeat in a heartbeat, albeit correctly this time.  
> For my friends, who were taken before their time, and my family who just try their best; thank you.  
> And to you, I hope you enjoy~

It's a fish. That is all that describes the beast that struggles before him and his crew, screeching bloody murder and thrashing like a beached trout. It's torso is human, still dotted with normally grey scales that run criss-crossed with blood and burnt flesh along its hips. 

 

The captain assesses his gang, tongue pressed thoughtfully to his left canine behind a closed mouth. Upon his shoulders, the capuchin monkey shrieks back at the beast and slams her hands down onto Hernan’s shoulder in retort. 

 

Valentina is right. “Alright men, nothing to see, now get scarce before the monkey gets hungry!”

 

She hisses and chirps and watches all the men scatter like mice, as uneasy as the ocean itself. The ocean, which just spat a merman from the wreckage of their latest raid like it was a stomach bug. 

 

Hernan approached cautiously, palming his sheathed flaying knife. Each step closer dragged another broken hiss from its-- _ marred _ \-- throat. What was left of it… 

 

This revelation puzzled the sea captain. Valentina whooped and threw herself to the boughs, climbing to the mast where a stray rope caught her attention. 

Upon his deck the beast panted, bloody and bruised and chained in rusted steel that bit into his rubbery flesh. Gold and riches he expected from those scum, but not to find a tortured merman beneath the deck, stowed away like some sort of tarnished warprize. 

 

“Hmm….” The captain jittered, taking stock of the obviously broken arm and shredded fins the creature sported. 

 

He could see inside of its neck, where gills miraculously managed to work and a voice box jittered with every breath. That alone drew forth a shiver, the display of gore making even him sick to his stomach: the wound itself not disgusting, but the fact that the beast still lived through the horrors.

 

With each step closer the merman writhed harder, bludgeoning the injuries along its side with each thump against the polished deck, and Hernan growled, foregoing protective measures and dropping his dead weight onto the fish, pressing it’s belly to the floor and sitting down hard onto the tail. Not even the teeth or claws rivalled the danger that lump of muscle possessed. 

 

Its rattling shriek nearly deafened him. The ship grew silent in response.

 

Realizing that now it was once more powerless, the merman heaved one last time, before relaxing like a gutted salmon. His arms grew lax in the bonds, tail no longer swishing, eyes no longer looking, teeth no longer bared.

 

That gave pause. Hernan, filled with curiosity, watched it close. Seeing the eyes of the monster flit uncertainly towards him, a gaze filled with so much agony even the man needed to suppress checking if his throat was still intact. Deep in his heart he lurched, the brief eye contact filling his hardy psyche with pity and sorrow, the urge to protect laying heavy in his ribs. 

 

He pressed the jagged knife against the creature’s throat. It didn’t even flinch.

 

_ Do it… End my life… There is nothing left of it… I do not need it, kill me, please.  _

 

The sound of shredding rope sent the crew back to work in a low murmur, and Hernan got to work yanking the soggy ropes from around its lithe body, freeing first the head and neck. Once sure the being posed no immediate threat, large hands tore off the restraints around the wrists and tail, ignoring the yelp of surprise and stunned body as he rolled off and shoved it towards the plank.

 

It did not fight back as he pressed his boot to its shoulder and pushed it off into the red depths below, disappearing with a splash. And with it, went away the feeling he so despised having grown inside of him.

 

Captain’s duty be damned, he watched the waters until he was certain the man had taken his chance and swam far, far away. A dozen moments later Valentina looped back up around his neck, chewing a fake eyeball in her mouth as she joined him in gaze.

 

She chirruped, and Hernan bloomed under her ministrations as she dropped the eye and started picking through his hair. She would never  _ find  _ anything - Hernan made sure he was spotless at all times - but the familial gesture was a relief. Wiping the merman from his mind entirely, he whipped around with a crack of his cloak and stalked back up to the head of his ship. Leaving thoughts behind at the wastes of the rival boat, Hernan guided his crew back home to the nearest port available. 

 

Time to fill up on cheap booze and even cheaper courtesans. Forget about the entire voyage and get back to business as usual. 

 

The rotten door couldn’t open fast enough, Hernan planting his feet on solid wooden ground for the first time in months. Valentina gripped his throat and gazed at the rowdy pub, glaring at anyone too close or too rough. The scanty barmaid at the table gave him a wink and approached, wiping down a mug, “Anything I can get for ya, sugar?”

 

Hernan scratched his beard, humming softly, “pour me the hardest liquor you have, sweetheart.”

 

She grinned slyly and sauntered away, buttocks firm beneath her dress. Valentina whooped by his ear and his eyes snapped away, deciding to join the rest of his crew by the window seats. Rain flooded the outdoors and lamps went out by the tailor across the street, throwing the alley into abrupt darkness. The pub stayed warm and lit. 

 

Jeremiah had two courtesans at his waist, both lavishing his neck with feathery touches, skimming along the golden necklace wrapped there. A good lay is always nice, but the man certainly needs to remember that a warm body is just as likely to rob you cold. Hernan takes a seat on his right, next to the harlot and his first mate. Jerr maneuvers one of his partners underneath his arm so he can get a look at Hernan face to face, giving a wet kiss to the woman’s cheek in apology. She giggles and chats up her male counterpart as Jeremiah gets the captain’s attention.

 

“ _ Twins _ , eh? Heheh, always trust the blokes out here to be into that kinky shit. That’s my cuppa, right there,” he swigs down a mug of whiskey and belches, “got word that a fancy new shipment is headin’ fo’ tha’ New Lands by fall, ain’t that right you li’l devil?” He nuzzles up to the man in his lap and Hernan rolls his eyes. Courtesans carry any and all information for money. Jerr probably spent his bed’s worth on that tidbit. 

 

“Fine, we can track them down after I finish up the errands in Fortmouth. Pay them up for zipped lips and get a room, you nasty cur.” 

 

Jeremiah cackles and chugs what's left on the table, swiping away his matched-catch to the stairs for a wild time. 

 

Deuce grumbles to his other side and slams his beer to the table, “fool doesn’t even know what subtlety is.”

 

A sigh, “he follows orders, that's all I care for. No petty  _ gringo  _ who thinks he’s better than anyone else steps foot on my ship without losing it.” Valentina accepted the drink offered to Hernan by the barmaid and took her own gulp before passing it down. 

 

“Still. He catches anything, I am throwing him off the plank myself.”

 

Hernan laughed and sipped gratefully. His mind warmed up to the booze and he trailed into his thoughts;  _ shining scales, bloody claws, red eyes--  _

 

He watches the others holler and shout out the corner of his eye, but he pays no mind. He stirs on the encounter with the merman and plots out plan after plan. The sounds of ruckus wanton creep down from the upstairs and Hernan holds back a grin, watching as Deuce grips his cropped hair and bangs his head on the table.

 

Valentina stays to provide the crew company while Hernan flits around the noisy pub.

 

Sitting alone at the bar was the easiest way to make it seem like he needed company. One eye kept watch on the monkey as she pretended to do tricks for petty cash and stole coins from drunk pockets. Hernan had about polished off his third mug before someone took a seat on the stool next to him, waving down the barmaid for a round. As always, Hernan didn’t say a thing.

 

“Smell ‘a the sea ‘bout you, mate,” they drawl, hair tied loosely around their shoulder, constricted by a black chord seemingly on its last legs, “‘an if I don’t know any be’er, yer up ‘ere inland lookin’ fer some pricey spoils. Whether that be information or fancy knick knacks, that ain’t my place, but I do know a feller with an eye fer the deadly.” One wave down and the plump barmaid girl brandishes a wooden mug of ale at the stranger, earning a gold coin stuffed in her bosom. She giggles and trots away.

 

Hernan rolls his eyes, but he’s piqued. 

 

“What kind of  _ spoils _ are we talking about, friend?” He says in return, keeping his gaze on the chipped barwood and one hand tight around his glass. The person shrugs heavy shoulders.

 

“Aye, the good ones. Sea shanties and bellows draw far o’er the big blue. But he says to me, he says, ‘I saw me the beast scamperin’ on the land, far up in to be snatched, an’ the thing didn’t do nothin’ but lounge.’ The salt of the  _ siren _ clings to yer breeches, mate, bes’ wash it off or risk less friendly folk prying for tha tale.” 

 

Hernan stalls,  _ the siren-- _ but the ghost has already fluttered off, and no wild double-take around the tavern finds the sunuva bitch anywhere. 

 

“Damn it all…” he hisses, glowering over the rim of his mug as if the drink would evaporate should he stare too long. 

 

The maid escorted him to a room upstairs, a window in the far corner giving him a perfect view of his ship swaying on the waters along the horizon below. The sun was a mere wink along the sea edge, and Hernan kicked off his boots and collapsed into the straw bed, dreaming about piles of gold and rewards in exchange for a silver flayed skin.

  
  


\---

  
  


Waves crashed as gentle as water could against the bough when Hernan boarded the boat next morn. Valentina looped her way around every sail and trail along the ships break, surveying the crew prepare for departure, rolling crates of rations and chests full of coin into the hull below-deck. She disappeared below alongside them and returned quickly thereafter with bones in her jaws, remains from the brig. 

 

Finalizing her patrol, she hopped from the mantle to Hernan’s shoulder, grasping around his throat with a tail more powerful than a man’s grip. With the familiar weight pressing his spine down, the captain took helm with a smarmy flourish and tapped his foot against the boards beneath whilst waiting for the remaining rats to climb aboard. Jerr was followed closely by a grumpy looking Scurvi, the veteran pirate mumbling to himself as he herded the stragglers on board; the second in command took side besides his captain as the peasants rolled the planks up from the docks and heaved the anchors wheel. 

 

Scurvi bellowed, deep, “aye ye de’sgusting scoundrels! Backs into it, lads, the New Lands ain’t a skip away yar fools!” the socket filling his head twitched in his frustrated bout of orders and he limped over to starboard to seek out the nearest gulley. 

 

Hernan grinned, slamming him on the back briefly as he departed, before gripping the smooth zebra wood of the wheel under his palm and, with a shout, demanded sails released in a gust of wind. 

 

Valentina chortled in his ear and made off with her bone, satisfied with the happenings on board, and Hernan disregarded his men as the open waters finally claimed his vessel. 

 

Three rats were scrubbing clean the salty tarnish on deck where the siren had flopped around like a silly fish the day prior. Hernan pursed his lips, feeling his beard prickle at his mouth. New Lands wasn’t an entire voyage away, should the rumours be true about shipment, yet, he couldn’t help but fantasize of rubies and pearls filling his cache.

 

Mulling about it, the decision came when Scurvi returned with report and asked for the geographical readings.

 

His scope aligned perfectly with the brewing clouds portside, one chocolate eye scouring the empty sea for any sign of sail or soil on trail.

 

“We go east to the Green Sea,” he said. Scurvi guffawed, but only by slight.

 

“Whattya mean, cap’n?” 

 

“I  _ mean _ , we find that siren and get ourselves a hefty sum in return for ‘em.” 

 

A smile, toothless and yellow, spread across Scurvi’s elderly face and he scratched at his throat, keen on the new idea.

 

“Aye aye, sir.”

  
  


\----

 

With each wave that rocked the galleon at least five men tumbled down deck with it, only then scrambling to get back up and return to their posts; rats bucketed water from below, the boatswain tethered sails and rope alike, and the rest repaired damage and barked orders at each other. Another violent heave on the seas part, and the Tear gave a groan against the pressure. 

 

The storm would clear in due time, sunlight already peaking past the thickest of cloud, but for time being Hernan was content to weather the struggle and ensure his boat remained aloft, his crew above with it. Valentina tucked herself beneath the neck of his coat, shrieking bloody fear and holding tight to his shirt. A hand patted the lump she formed on his back and Hernan braced against the railing as he made his way down, squinting against the onslaught of pour from the sky. 

 

Deuce had one hand grasped tight on the neck of a young crewmate as another shudder ran through the boat, preventing the boy from tripping overboard where he so carelessly wandered in the fray. His beguiling retort was lost on the roar of the waters, but Hernan got the idea from his worried yet furious expression. The kid stiffened, frightened, and bolted back below deck to help out where he wouldn’t have the chance to unwillingly walk the plank.

 

Amidst the swell of bodies all working hard, Hernan’s eye swept briefly across the new recruit, who ducked behind the stock piled besides the mast with a glint in his eye Hernan had seen too many times before. Another coward, of course. A man who would eat and sleep and shit on his deck without pitching his own weight.

 

The rain kept spitting, but Hernan stomped over, prepared to lecture the fucker in decency of piracy when Deuce shouted loud enough from the wheel that even the rats under the hull could hear. 

 

“ _ ROCKS!!” _

 

No one braced in time for when the decal grazed the stones jutting from the sea. A few men took a heavy spill into some barrels and nets of fish, some into each other, and with a wrench in his gut he watched as a couple even were thrown overboard. He caught his weight against the mast before him, losing sight of the coward, then turned task to Scurvi who limped his way across with one hook digging into the wood to anchor him steady.

 

_ “Scurvi! Drop the fucking nets, after those boys!”  _ He ordered against the downpour. The man, for all his deaf hearing, got the idea right away and worked on collecting a small cluster from the crew to help drop line for the downed mates. 

 

Before Hernan could steady himself and regroup, a sharp tug on his collar lurched him backwards towards the rail and his back bowed against the wood. His heart lurched, limbs cold though not from water, as that  _ damned fool  _ of a coward appeared once more, trying to heave Hernan’s body overboard with a strained look on his ugly mug. 

 

Though he had managed to catch himself on the divet between canon and board, with a stab through his spine he felt the familiar weight in the cup of his jacket dip free as Valentina fell from his coat with a shriek, diving towards the roiling waters.

 

_ “Vete a la mierda, tu perro!”  _ Hernan brought a heavy boot to the mans boisterous gut and launched himself upon the stunned prick, wailing his fists against his meaty face with all the strength in his body, howling all the while.

 

Twas only a few moments, till the bastard was and truly unconscious, before Hernan jolted back to reality and dropped his rage in favour of remembering Valentina. He did not think, did not plan, just acted; Hernan threw himself off the side of the boat to the sounds of shouting men and the wails of his second mate witnessing his captains sacrifice.

 

The sea opened up to his body as he crashed, narrowly missing a jut of stone as the chill immediately overwhelmed his body. His jacket spread out in the blue and weighed him down as he pulled his way back to surface, shaking salt from his eyes as he was tossed in the water like a doll, frantically searching for any sign of dark fur in the wastes. 

 

“Valentina!” He pleaded, trying to keep himself afloat long enough to spot her.

 

Fighting against all hope against the strong tide which thrashed his body around against rock and coral alike, Hernan ignored his ship as it slowly trailed out of his reach and the men on board struggling to toss anchor and retrieve their drowning comrades. He noticed Jerr on board wrecking the body of the man who tried to murder Hernan, beating him while he was down, and briefly he felt a swell of pride for the loyalty of his men.

 

But, only briefly. As he searched the depths for his treasured companion, the ocean gave one more shove and threw Hernan against a rock with a  _ thwack _ , sending the world into darkness.

 

\---

 

He beat the waves with a tail designed for shredding, efficiently fighting back against the currents which would normally drown a normal human man. The vibrations in the sea travelled along the reefs and Kirk nosed his way along the trail of the man-vessel, the scent of ale and vomit and urine and excrement following the ship wherever it may go. Scraps of chicken were tossed over and Kirk nibbled on the morsels curiously.

 

He knew inside that these men wouldn’t survive the approaching typhoon barring their way to the Green Sea. So, when he saw men one by one plucked and dropped from their boat, it seemed only fitting he rope their unconscious bodies to his back and carry them safely one by one to the hidden rock cavern just left of their swaying ship. He carried twelve men in the two hours the storm took to ravage them, hoisting them deep into the cave and out of water’s reach, before the black cloak of a figure he had been watching so closely for the last weeks painted the surface midnight. 

 

Kirk swam tentatively, jittery with the lightning that struck the water every now and then, swooped up the delirious sea captain over his shoulder. It was vital that he kept the man’s head above water, so Kirk swam surface bound back to the cave and dropped the cargo down next to his comrades.

 

He paused. Looked at the men, thirteen in total, running his hands along the sharp rocks that adorned this particular hideout; a hideout no more. Rain and thunder crashed overhead yet did not breach the steady roof of the cave system. Kirk did not flinch. He studied these men, these  _ beasts, _ noted how they were all vastly different shapes and sizes, colours and builds. Their captain was the most flashy, his cloak leather and his trousers tight. Kirk swam forward, propped himself on the ledge, and gently poked a finger at the unconscious body, feeling warm skin chilled with salt. 

 

It was strange, having men, aye,  _ food _ , laying so vulnerable at his disposal.

 

But he remembered. He too was at their disposal. And they had returned him to the ocean without a care of the bounty on his head. A grimace painted his mouth as he remembered, listened aptly to the shouting of men on the boat slink further away. They would anchor, nearby. To retrieve their men and their lost supplies. A claw had just about pierced fabric in curiosity when a choked wail caught his attention, a single ear flicking to alertness. 

 

Kirk turned tail and dived back beneath surface, following the cries of the capuchin monkey that attempted to crawl her way up the rocks in futile. The siren carefully collected the soaked animal in his hand, to a surprising lack of retaliation, and slowly floated back towards the shelter of the tiny cave, where he rested her against the man he remembered she favoured perching on. 

 

By the time the humans awoke, he would be long gone once more.

  
  


\-----

  
  


_ Kirk remembers when he was young. The surprised child borne from god and man, never quite fitting into any. _

 

_ His mother disappeared and his father abused, driving the boy into the ocean where his matron gifted him the power of the water, hiding her child from all the evils of the deep blue and giving him claws and teeth sharp enough to shred ego. Her husband grew suspicious, captured the poor boy, cast upon him the curse of the gods, left him to suffer alone for his wife’s infidelity, where the foam of the sea sought him out. _

 

_ And for years he swam, alone and afraid, until now, where he lay.  _

 

The man stirred with a cough, stale sea water trickling from his bearded chin, and the creature of the deep watched from behind a rock, chewing absentmindedly on the stringy flesh discarded here by voyages past. He knew he feasted out of sight, a place he could observe and not be seen, and so the siren watched the humans with morbid curiosity. 

 

The monkey roused fully first, curling herself around the man's throat as he sat up, holding his head in what appeared to be pain. The three of his crew Kirk had deposited nearby did not wake, and when Kirk sniffed, he did not scent the beat of their hearts. Odd, they lived just moments before he returned from his scavenge. 

 

But the less, the better. Steeling his frantic heart, Kirk dove silently under the gently lapping waves and glided across the current to a stone closer by, peeking timidly, watching, waiting, checking.

 

“I know you are there, beast, if I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead by now.”

 

Kirk grumbled, bit his tongue on retort and emerged from the green waters, eyes only.

 

The pirate squinted at him, looking a mess and feeling the part, but did not act aggressively. Kirk tilted his head.   
  
“You… Not kill… Why?” He rasped, near silently, yet praised the seemingly perfect hearing of this strange human.

 

“I… Do not know. I planned to.”

 

“Didn’t…”

 

“I am aware,  _ pez. _ ”

 

The insult rolled over Kirk’s skull. He swam closer, hoisted his heavy body up on the nearest surface and stared, “Why?” He pressed again, to irritation. 

 

“Your hide is precious, worth thousands in gold,” he stroked the monkey on his shoulder and fiddled with his damp sleeve, “yet, I realized, while I drowned, God must have wished you precious alive.” 

 

Kirk pursed his lips, blinking owlishly. One God? Impossible. Yet the man continued.

 

“I spared your life, freed you whence you came, and in return for my karma you appeared and saved mine. That alone is sign enough.” He stood, brushed sand and grit from his trousers, and glanced to his dead crewmates sprawled nearby. He pressed his heart, head and shoulders in weird unison before climbing the cave wall to reach higher ground, a place Kirk could not follow. Voicing his displeasure, the siren garbled as loud as he could to an ignored response. 

 

Huffing, Kirk trailed him outside the cave, lining the waves by the rock to where he could see him standing tall.

 

“West… Turned back… Get you,” Kirk explained, tired, “wait.” 

 

And wait they did.

 

They spoke, mainly the man, but conversed nonetheless. Kirk was enlightened on human customs, traced patterns in the sand idly, listened to story of grandeur and fame and kept company till sail breached horizon, at which point he fled out of fright. 

  
  


\----

  
  


Hernan did not sleep well back in his chambers. Scurvi rushed the anchor and deployed the buoy, dragging his captain back on board to a roar of cheer from the crew. Being back on ship threatened his sea legs, but he stood strong, feigning a smile when all he thought of was the ruby slits gazing at him with wonder, such pure innocence, and what was a sliver of growing trust he found he wished to nurture. 

 

And then the siren disappeared. Again. He cursed.

 

The sail back was uneventful, thank God. There were at least three stops or so lining the path to New Lands, and plenty of time before the shipment was due to part. No more burdens, no more backlash, no more bastards yearning for the plank.

 

Which left just one, the face now beaten and bloody locked away in the brig, but the image still burned behind Hernan’s eyelids. Deuce scruffed the man and held him by the throat, a chorus of whoops and hollers following excitedly. 

 

“ _ You attempted my life, and now I take yours. _ ” A speech was not in order for this scum. He drew knife across the tender flesh of his throat and bathed in the warm spray that followed, watching with lingering fury as Deuce tossed the body overboard to louder hoots. The men did indeed deserve the show. 

 

Another addition to the long line of bodies that trailed the Maiden’s Tear.

  
  


Unbeknownst, a creature of the deep scoured the corpse and tore meat from bone in mere minutes, bloated on flesh and sated on marrow. Kirk followed the ship, for he had nothing else to follow. 

 

The fresh food was just a bonus.

  
  


\---

 

By the end of a fortnight, New Lands welcomes the hull of the Maiden’s Tear like a long lost lover, bumping ever so gently against the crusted wood. Hernan looks back on evenings after he was thrown overboard, sometimes spotting twin roses peeking out from under the dark waves at night, a glint in the water of a silky back and a strong fin. 

 

Of course, the being never stuck around, was never seen for too long at a time by he nor his crew before ducking back beneath the ocean foam. It was fleeting, always more than a kiss of breath on the morning breeze before the rubies disappeared again. And he dared not tell his crew about the gifts he soon found lining the waters near the docks every morning thereafter.

 

Small, luminous pearls fashioned of pure red, coloured not unlike that of a fish’s egg, with a deeper centre and a highlighted shell. There was no question who left them, Hernan knew. It was the strange siren, a beast in body but not in heart, and something, and unknown thing, swelled in his chest at the mere memory of it.

 

_ No, him. _

 

He finished his drink in one large gulp, letting Valentina play in the sand nearby to a raucous holler on her part, enjoying the warm grains pass through her tiny fingers. She attempted to shape something out of the malleable parts, of course to no avail; the sun was beating too strongly today. 

 

It seemed like today was as perfect day as any to brood, and to think. Mulling over the past and present and future and what to do with all three, the salt filling his nostrils his only relief to his stress. 

 

He thought about his mother. When he found it beginning to creep in on his subconscious, he would just try his damndest to dispel it, yet the thought always grew on him, her warm and velvety hands, perfect for hugs, sweet caramel skin and thick black hair. He missed her. The azure scarf she spun for him when he was just a teen clutched his throat under his lapels, a comforting weight that reminded him she was with God now, watching over her son along with Valentina and papa. 

 

A bubble in the usually calm water before him had Hernan jumping, watching the shore cautiously as a sleek black head breached the surface, eyes of blood, round as a moon, gazing intently with some adorable sense of curiosity. 

 

“Ah, it’s just you,  _ amigo,”  _ Hernan mutters, shifting a little, “here to sit and watch, or come up here and talk like a normal person, aye?” 

 

The siren glares, good naturedly, of course, and pulls his heavy body above the waves, shuffling forward slowly until just the tip of his long silver tail touches the water and he can lounge in the heat of land. Mind, he was far enough away to escape from Hernan should need be, but he was close enough to note the marred flesh adorning his entire body, and the sadness his eyes held. 

 

Silence stretched for heartbeat upon heartbeat. Where Hernan found it comforting, being in the presence of something which had the entire capability to maul him, yet didn’t, the siren wiggled awkwardly, prompting Hernan to speak up, “what’s wrong, hm?”

 

The creature didn’t look him in the eye, instead bashfully unto the sand where he drew pictures with his claw. “...Kirk.” 

 

“ _ Que?” _

 

“Name… Kirk.” 

 

Ahh, his name. A title to put to face instead of ruthless terms like ‘monster’ or ‘beast’. Hernan smiled at him, pleased with the newfound proceedings.

 

“Hernan Guerra, pleasure to finally know you.” He teased, watching Kirk’s cheeks flush almost as carmine as his eyes. He tested Hernan’s name on his tongue for a while, the taste obviously foreign to a mouth so unused, and some shocking part inside of him wondered how tender those lips really were, if they had ever experienced the press of another’s. 

 

Which felt  _ wrong  _ at first. This was a siren, for God’s sake, one whom just weeks ago he had met and attempted to capture, but something along the way shifted their relationship and now here they sat, together on the beach, secluded from the view of others and listening to Valentina as she hopped over to inspect Kirk’s back. Kirk did not unwelcome it. 

 

Hernan tapped his foot absentmindedly, “you are a wonder, you know that? You eat people, yet here you are blushing like a virgin in front of one. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were crushing,” came his snicker, and the siren in front of him swished his tail in annoyance, huffing, but redder all the same.

 

“Quiet, Hernan… Curious, yes…  _ Hope _ .” Kirk rasped, finally looking up to stare directly at Hernan, the connection electric and sending sparks right to his head. 

 

“Hope for what?”

 

He was silent, just for a breath, “ _ companionship… _ ”

 

Hernan blanched. Words so tender and  _ human  _ coming from something so physically monstrous. In his dazed bout, he did not notice Kirk shuffle forwards, still sporting a capuchin monkey on his back, and he pressed a cold hand into his open palm, dropping a tangled mass of bloody pearls to the soft flesh there.

 

When he shook off his starstruck moment, Hernan glanced down to inspect the gift, rubbing a thumb over the largest of the pearls that made the leather necklace. It hung heavy right at the center, obviously around where his throat would sit, and shone the brightest of them all.

 

Before he could ask, Kirk spoke up again, gesturing for eyes on him, “ _ Tears… _ ” he points to his eye, forms a line down his cheek, “ _ pearls… _ ” and Hernan understands. It is so… Tragically beautiful, something so precious coming from such sadness, and he almost stakes his heart just to chase away the feeling, the pity.

 

But one question still nags him, so he ignores the swelling in his throat and tilts his head at the siren, “why do you give me such gifts?”

 

Another pause, a blush, “Gift… To court…” he mumbles, before turning around frightened and preparing to flee back into the waters, had an expectant hand not caught his wrist. 

 

There’s a smile on his face, filled with delight and some small hint of pride, and to Hernan, the gesture is entirely adorable. This being, this beautiful creation of God, has chosen him among all beings on this earth to take a fleeting interest to. 

 

Instead of providing an answer, Hernan pulls Kirk forwards only slightly to nuzzle his cheek with his nose, and teases, “What a fickle thing, love is, but if it is something that would please your pure heart, I have no choice but to fall for it.”

 

The siren simply flushes brighter. 

  
  


\---

  
  


Beads of red hang heavy around Hernan’s throat as he discards his thick overcoat in favour of  _ not  _ melting under the sun, pulling rope after rope around the railing to secure the brand new sail. The feeling against his chest never fails to bring a smile to his face, and through all the sweat staining his face and back, his excitement never falters. 

 

It was a strange thing, he thought, to have fallen for a man who lived in the sea, was part animal yet more human than half the people he has ever known, but God had a plan for him and if providing this wonderful creature with companionship for however long he had was it, then he would tread through broken glass and canonfire to be there.

 

Behind his eyelids he would see fluffed black hair, slicked down to Kirk’s neck from the ocean and bristling past ears of translucent skin. There was never a detail about Kirk that failed to impress Hernan, and admiring every memory of him was his favourite pastime. Deuce was aiding him currently in securing sail to ship, whilst Scurvi, Jerr, Pyp, and Klyde hassled around the boat for chores and duties to fulfill. 

 

Before noon they would sail over the Green Sea to try and catch the shipment being scheduled for the weekend, and Kirk would tail them closely where he could not huddle on board. 

 

Once the sun hit her highest point in the cloudless sky, the anchor was already drawn and the Tear bumbled over the waves to the east, one of the calmest treks she had experienced in a long while. Hernan fiddled a thin slice of wood between his teeth, gripping the wheel and watching the shores float past, mind at ease and body even moreso. 

 

Each languid slide of wood over water rocked the ship slightly to and fro, causing rats with sea legs to empty their stomachs overboard due to inexperience, and Pyp cackled at their misfortune and clapped them on the backs, holding their hair up should it be long enough to impede their face while they got sick. All in all, it was a perfect sail. 

 

By the time dusk rolled over the farthest peak, and the boat grew hushed and eerie, Hernan had trailed off course towards a small island on the way to their destination, and left the wheel in Scurvi’s possession, retiring to his bunk to log the day. Their lack of boatswain or any crewmate with enough free time and brain cells to track resources left the responsibility to Hernan, sitting plush at his desk and pouring a glass of bourbon for Valentina as he sketched out a map of their travels, jotted which supplies they had used, how much riches they gathered and how much to split for each man on board. 

 

A large ruckus broke out below deck of which Hernan ignored; most likely Twitch beating the boys at another round of cards, like she always did. A grin pulled his lips taut. Dotting the page off with his signature, he closed and clasped the book and slid it back in his desk drawer, blowing out the candle by Valentina’s hammock before slipping into his own for a night’s sleep.

  
  


\---

  
  


He meets Kirk once more in a secluded burrow on the opposite side of the island, listening to the holler of his crew as they take break from sea to regain their bearings. They do nothing but lounge and Hernan traces scars and scales that litter the broad back that lies across his lap, uncaring of the wetness his trousers now carry. 

 

Kirk sleeps against him, a soft rumble, purr-like, emitting from his shredded throat which betrays his relaxation. Its endearing, so Hernan lets Valentina dig through his hair for sand while he braids through Kirk’s. 

 

Their moment is fleeting, but it matters, so when the men shout for their captain to return, Kirk departs with a butterfly kiss and is lost once more to the waves, leaving Hernan to brood over actions left undone. His mother’s scarf itches against his neck and he realizes what he has to do.

 

Three days roll past without incident, his regular visits with Kirk preceding each one, and on the last one he mentions what nagged his mind for hours on end.

 

“Here.” He says, and wraps a shred of the blue scarf around Kirk’s bony wrist, tying it with a double knot to secure it tightly. Kirk looks a bit confused, of course he does, and examines it thoroughly on his arm like a treasure. So Hernan explains.

 

“You have given me something, so I have now given as well. Take this, so a piece of me may always be a part of you, as well.”

 

Kirk smiles at it, displaying a proud set of sharp teeth, and lurches forward to wrap Hernan in a bear hug. 

 

\---

 

He’s leaning over the railing, rain beating down against his back and obscuring his vision. Kirk treads water harshly to stay afloat, calling up as best he can to Hernan over the roar of thunder. 

 

“ _ Sail! South!”  _ He cries, before the waters claim his head and he resorts to digging his claws into the ships hull to stay with it. 

 

He can see Hernan disappear over the side, most likely to inform his crew, and Kirk grasps into the wood tighter, panic flooding his system in steady beats of his heart as he feels it. The vibrations of a vessel on the sea, a familiar wood and the rumble of a familiar voice, a voice which took his own, and  _ he was dead, I thought him dead! _

 

Of course they have no choice but to dock again, to possibly lose their tail in the storm and assess the damage they sustained in the onslaught. Kirk chews on his lip and keeps his eye on the blue secured around his wrist, feeling the cold of fright melt away with the love it displays. 

 

He’ll be safe. Right here, with Hernan. He assists their voyage by pushing the fins as best he can against the current, aiming for a port he knows will breach their west in the near hour, trusting the smog that coats it to hide them from their predators. 

 

At some point during the ordeal, Kirk does indeed lose track of the ship following them, the storm receding along with the shadow encompassing the dock he mapped out for Hernan the morning earlier. When they anchor down, Kirk yanks his talons free from the wood and assesses the gouges he made, finds them superficial at best, and then swims away from the boat and towards the docks, tossing coral pebbles onto the beach in a steady trail to the farthest point of the island where he hopes to meet back up with Hernan. 

 

A clownfish pokes her head out from an anemone by his dorsal fin and he watches her cautiously, keeping his tail away from the plant. He remembers words in his mind, whispered in his dreams, a mother who never was,  _ the fish of orange and white will always guide you. _

 

Because the Goddess of the sea favoured them and they she will become. 

 

It is half an hour before the man finds their meeting spot, exhausted from the entire day and letting Valentina jump down and scour the sparse jungle behind the beach.

 

The rest is a blur. They’re talking in hushed voices, both obviously panicked, and by the time Kirk finally realizes he has returned to his own body, he is covered in blood.

 

_ “Get them!” A voice shouts, and Kirk throws himself high on the beach with a hiss rivalling that of a great cat, taking a cleaver to his tail with a wail. At least Hernan was not hit, and so while three or four men sprint from the cover of foliage nearby waving sword and dagger, the siren is already on the offensive. He uses his injured tail, summons a bout of energy he was not aware he had to shove himself up and forward, effectively barreling into the smallest of the men and cracking his skull open on a conch shell below, digging his hands into the bastards body to shred into paper trails of red.  _

 

_ The screech of a monkey follows, soft fur spiked and furious as Valentina claws at the eyes of one of their assassins, and Hernan jumps to his feet to apprehend a third, struggling only briefly before snapping their neck with a twist of his elbow. But Kirk wasn’t done. The deeper he dug into the gored pulp beneath him the hungrier he became, rage filling his body at the danger they were thrust into, and when claws could not dig deep enough, his teeth sure did, gouging the body with deep red holes he swallowed into hungrily.  _

 

_ It’s before he finished that he realizes where his inherent animosity stems from, glancing briefly at Hernan crouched in the sand, bloody and defeated, holding a scruffy mass of fur as still as the trees. The bodies don’t get the honour of burial; Kirk shoves what he can down his throat and then leaves the remains to the gulls.  _

 

Hernan does not seem to care for all the blood Kirk smears over his clothes when he hugs him, ignoring the heavy weight Kirk must be pressing to his back. Before he knows it, he’s watching Hernan softly pet the body of his beloved companion and little red pearls bounce from her fur and to the sand below them both, tears of salt and tears of rose mingling in shared pain at the loss.

 

And so they mourn. The stars sail past as night crawls in and right back out, sleep never claiming either of them and their vigil lasts till a day has passed, shock twisting them both into a grieving mass of sorrow. It is only when Kirk notices their enemy breaching the fog and urges Hernan to stand, wrapping Valentina’s body in his jacket and letting Kirk place her into a quickly dug hole in the white sand. 

 

\---

 

Hernan was all but inconsolable for another week after the incident. Of course he mirrors affection Kirk lavished upon him in apology, but it takes a long time before Hernan finally hardens his stare and promises to Kirk they will kill every last one of the pirates who had a hand in their pain. 

 

In the meantime, they share passion and love every chance they can, on every patch of skin they can.

  
  
  
  


\----


	2. Chapter 2

Oceans, vast and sparkling against the fading sun, spread far and wide from each peak of land to the horizons. It’s salty touch lapped at the sandy shores, the moldy wooden trusses of the docks, the jagged rocks of cliffsides and the nests of many seagulls. The captain found first, the one comfort of the sea, was the warmth it gave when the sun finally vanished, feeling lush sand and the tender caress of seaweed against bare feet. He thought to the aquatic creature before him, almost as stunning as a chest of gold and holding the wisdom of God in his eyes. This beast could not feel the ocean floor like he could, and the thought was pitious. 

 

Hernan Guerra was no longer a man of sleaze or suave, but the sleek curves of this man-- this  _ beast _ \-- stirred the most neglected places of his heart and soul like stew. The grey scales along Kirk’s spine reflected each beam of light thrown his way like a hand mirror, and the twists of his body sent gentle waves through the water that kissed up to Hernan’s clothed navel. 

 

“ _ Dios _ , but look at you,” Hernan purred, waiting for Kirk’s head to resurface from the banks after they had waded out far enough, “a gift from God Himself, sent straight to my arms.”

 

Kirk chuckled, a breathy wheeze that rattled his throat like a broken locket. His tail beat against the ocean floor to keep his shoulders above water, and Hernan let his hands cup the thin membranes of his ears, feeling the slick texture against his fingertips. This leverage let Kirk raise more of his torso out of the sea, and soon his lips were level with Hernan’s neck, where the siren pressed a chaste kiss, full of salt and adoration. 

 

Water had by then saturated the man’s clothes, so there was indeed no reason for Hernan to be shy. A smug chuckle, and Hernan grasped Kirk by the waist, where human flesh met the neat ridges, and spun him once in the water. The resulting whirlpool shocked minnows from their dunes and they tickled his calves as they fled. 

 

“Ah, my sweet pearl,” whispered right besides Kirk’s hairline, “you bring out love I thought long dead inside of me.  _ De amarte se trate mi cielo… _ ” The song from his childhood, its lyrics falling from his tongue. 

 

A smile, the barest display of teeth untainted by mans creations, and Kirk tilted his head, leaning into the warmth his adored provided.

 

“ _ Sing… _ ” Kirk rasped, a single word to befall Hernan’s ears albeit the hush of waves. 

 

“Anything.” 

 

Though the sea was not the perfect place for a dance, it seemed to divide and form to their bodies as Hernan guided them both into a familiar sway under the water. Air was hardly a problem this close to the surface, and the pirate lead his treasure through the movements as easy as breathing. 

 

“ _ A Dios le pido, _

_   
_ _ Que mi alma no descanse cuando,  _

_   
_ _ De amarte se trate mi cielo…” _

 

Thick spanish hung heavy in the air as Hernan danced, watching the flex of Kirk’s body and the feel of his unique skin against his hands and legs, the urge to kiss and devour held at bay by the melody in his throat.

 

_ “Por los días que me quedan, _

_   
_ _ Y las noches que aún no llegan yo, _

_   
_ _ A Dios le pido…” _

 

When Kirk blinked, the thin layer below his eyelid closed first, creating a beautiful hypnotic display of white and red. His eyelashes did not clump in the water, still long as ever, and his lips-- though pallid and pale-- remained plush and kissable. 

 

_ “Que si me muero sea de amor, _

_   
_ _ Y si me enamoro sea de vos, _

_   
_ _ Y que de tu voz sea este corazón, _

_   
_ _ Todos los días a Dios le pido…” _

 

The water did part when Hernan dipped Kirk, malleable to the flex of their combined masses. Kirk would curl his tail in a ghostly brush around Hernan’s legs when they would spin, and laughed whenever he resurfaced from a twirl. They danced and danced in the ocean’s embrace, never growing tired and never growing bored, enraptured by one another and the feel of each other so near and so in tune.  

 

Hernan trailed the hand wrapped around his love’s hips across his back, stepping around the slim body to sashay around and bend at the knee. Like an oiled machine, Kirk would fall into step-- or swim-- with his grip and they created a harmonic mantra that lulled the entire pacific to sleep. 

 

Noses brushed, dripping salt into their mouths, and Hernan, overcome with the tightness in his chest only known as love, pressed his chapped lips against Kirk’s. It would be a lie to say that Kirk did not taste of salt, but there was also the barest hint of lavender and chocolate on his tongue, likely from the sweets they had shared together not hours past. And it was intoxicating.

 

Entwined with both arm and tail, lips locked with vicious affection, the two outlaws flattened against one another beneath the ocean and gave their hearts willingly to the Gods who once had stolen them. 

 

Parting above sea level, bathed in moonlight unrivaled by the wax or wane, Hernan  _ did _ pray to God. 

 

And after what felt like hours of loving and singing between them, Hernan stepped free of the waters grasp and watched with a growing heaviness as Kirk dipped below the reef and swam out of sight, lost to the abyssal nothingness that the pirate captain knew he would never be able to see. 

 

The swath of scarf around his wrist seemed to pull tighter, to which Hernan soothed its pressure with a calloused palm and wished he were back in the comfort of the deep with the siren that had stolen his devotion without song. 

  
  


\---

 

By next morning, Kirk’s body is lax beneath the languid rolling of waves near the shallow pool from the shore. His tail is free of aches and limbs loose under the current, a relaxation he hasn’t felt in a very long time.

 

He remembers the words sparred briefly before departing the night prior, hushed goodbyes, chaste kisses, “ _ I will say my farewells when the sun hits high tomorrow, and when I return we will dance once more under the stars, wherever they may be. Do not wait for me.” _

 

Hernan’s warmth ghosts his skin in the cold of the waves, and when his eyes have finally shaken the sleep clinging to his lashes, he jolts against the sand with a shock. 

 

The sensors along his fins tremble under sonic feedback from the ocean behind him, alert now to the distress of a pirate ship. Kirk swallows thickly and dives into the deeper recesses of the waters, following the cry of the big blue to lead him to the destruction. He glances to his right, to check the shores by the pier, the marina, for any peek of Hernan’s ship, and with a drop in his chest finds it gone.

 

A pitiful whine crawls its way from his throat, and with increasing worry, and anger at being lied to, Kirk thrashes against the morning pull and swims as fast as he can out to sea, shaking with fear. Were these tidings Hernan’s vessel? Was Hernan even telling the  _ truth  _ when they shared those numerous nights of intimacy? Did he care so little for his life that he’d rather flee safety to seek revenge on a monsters behalf? 

 

Bubbles flew behind him, reefs and coral passing his peripherals, and Kirk hardly spared a flinch when he gouged his tail on a jutting rock, ignoring the accumulation of sharks following the scent of blood in the water. His mind had one goal, Hernan, Hernan,  _ Hernan. _

 

He clutched the ribbon in his hand for comfort, praying to any Gods who would listen for reprise, for his fears to be faulty. But his long years of life have guaranteed him one thing; never would happiness trail him. 

  
  


\-----

  
  


When oil and blood bloomed in the ocean, all the life that dwelled within could taste the copper from miles away. It could bring feeding frenzies, families, refugees, and criminals from the sea to raid away the leftovers.

 

Kirk knew well the tang of blood as it hit the back of his throat. Knew whose it was and where it seeped. His tail couldn’t beat fast enough against the oppressing current that seemed to scream at him  _ ‘No, no stay away! It will hurt you the farther you go!’. _

 

Yet there it lay, blackened in the distance against the smouldering fires that ravaged the wreckage. Each familiar mast and rope and plank sinking slowly into the waters that once supported it so furiously. As empty as a pillaged clam, the siren dove back under the froth of the sea and swam faster towards the sting of ash that permeated his home.

 

Whiskey and countless unmentionable solubles flowed from the ship and into Kirk’s eyes, causing him to blink harshly, and behind each snapshot of his eyelids he saw cages and bars and chains and the sizzling brand of a hot iron. Memories he couldn’t afford to let plague him whilst the form he sought yet wished he would never find was ahead. 

 

Kirk ducked beneath a crashing truss and glided closer to the mass of the ship, a tiger shark mother making way for him in shock with an arm between her jaws.

 

He broke into so many chests of gold and valuables he dared not count how much wealth he ignored, tossing offending planks of rotted wood further into the abyss when they did not yield his one true treasure behind them. The quickness of breath in his lungs never stopped, the thumping of his heart behind his still healing ribcage hurting almost as much as the torn flesh between his fingers as he rummaged through sharp steel, crying out to the ocean for some sign,  _ any sign _ , that Hernan was okay, alive, safe, could hear his broken song and come to him.

 

Six bodies he uncovered in three hours, some he knew by names like Deuce and one he had never seen before, but the grief of them could not exact to the ever-present fear that their captain may have perished with them, a man who seemed to never die.

 

A man who should never have to. 

 

It was near to dawn, the skies above the waters now a mournful phthalo. The fires never stopped raging throughout the night, and Kirk’s scarred throat and sensitive lungs were burned raw by the sulfur in the ash and blood coating his gullet. Bubbles escaped his mouth more so than his gills, until finally, once the siren found all strength in him evaporate like mist, eternity after his search began, the hull broke free from the cabin and sank into nothingness.

 

The sea was silent. The shores were hushed, whispering to the land. Kirk drew the body from where it lay pinned to the floor by a rusted harpoon, floating to the surface where some grieving part of him knew the man would be able to breathe better. To see the sunrise like he had always loved doing, with hands threading through Kirk’s hair and across his flesh.

 

This siren’s song had long been despoiled of its quality to lure. But the soft wailing that filled the hazy air then managed to reach the heart of the earth itself. Kirk wept, pulling himself upon a rock nearest the shore with Hernan in tow, hissing and seething. Red fell from equal eyes of hue, crystallizing in the water below and falling like a clutch of eggs into the reef, swept away with the pull of the waves.

 

Rocks sliced into the siren’s back as he lay upon them, heaving his cargo up to his chest in a vain attempt to be held back, even one more time. But the pirate captain was gone, lungs burst with water and blood, and eyes closed to the approaching sun that seemed to once wash away all the pain. It’s warmth did nothing to soothe the aching heart of the siren. Kirk sobbed, pawed at Hernan and pleaded him to awaken.

 

“ _ W-Wake… Up, please… Up… _ ” He tried, hoarsely, rubbing tender circles over the swollen flesh around the harpoons protrusion, “ _ Back to m-me. _ ”

 

But he did not wake. His dreams were destined to remain eternal and his eyes to never see another sunset. Pearls fell off his hollowed cheeks, stark against once mocha skin, now stained ghostly olive. Yet they matched so perfectly, in some rotten way; blending with the blood pooling in watery swirls like some gruesome painting. 

 

The sun melted across the sky, drying out Kirk’s flesh as he lay, submerged only at the waist. It burned and scabbed, his ears stung and his lips cracked, but he held the body under the rays in some ugly hope that maybe it would rejuvenate what was lost. It trailed by once, twice, thrice. Kirk did not die.

 

Hernan did. 

 

It was a week in mourning before the siren gathered the strength to dip back beneath the surface. The water tore through his charred flesh but the pain did not register, heart hurting too heavily to be burdened by the physical agony. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he remembered burials were man's tradition. He did not know how to create fire, but in his dreams She came to him, whispering tales of love and words of comfort. She held him to her breast and combed back his hair, healed. 

 

She gave him legs. To walk on land as a man only until the water brushed his toes once more. The body burned and he watched from the sand, sitting still while crabs and baby sea turtles shimmied past. Kirk gathered the ashes from the dying flames and placed them in a shell jar by his hip. The conch held the ashes airtight where he stuffed seaweed into the holes to prevent water from soaking through. 

 

The Atlantic ocean proved scenic. Months of swimming nonstop, Kirk began to take notice in how frail he was becoming. Ribs peeked through his skin, reminding him that he was slowly starving. But he held the conch to his chest and swam, stopping naught for the sea or her occupants and following the gulfs to where his heart yearned. A ship sailed in the distance, surrounded by viscous blood as the men there wrangled a whale to the bow, launching spear after spear into her hide while she used her body to protect the calf from harm. 

 

He listened, he watched, empty of grief or tears to spare her, as she heaved a final breath and wailed into the seas to beg protections upon her baby. Alas, all failed and the young’un choked on his mother’s blood. The men sliced them into pieces and dug the oil from their carcasses. 

 

Land came into view not long after. A woman carrying a basket happened upon the crashed ship, stained sail to deck in blood and shredded bodies, the gore painting the beaches in entrails and scuff marks on the sand indicating a feast. Kirk dumped the barrels of oil back into the ocean and set the wreck ablaze with the gunpowder he found on-board. 

 

She watched, fazed not. A steady eye, steadfast. Kirk watched her right back, waiting for a knife or a rope. A dozen heartbeats, and she started moving forward, no longer caring. Brushing past the creature did she go, kneeling in the sand and collecting wood from the boat, like Kirk was another common occurrence. Belatedly, Kirk shuffled up to her, noticing her catch movement. 

 

Gulls screeched from up high and he held forward his cargo. Kirk caught sight of the blue scarf around his wrist. Flinched. She locked onto the fabric and paused.

 

“ _ Tlaloc,  _ cometh forth, aye?” she tried her English. Kirk did not want her to.    
  
Hence, she reverted. “ _ Has llegado hasta aquí, gran serpiente. Veo que has traido a uno de tus hijos a a su descanso final, y ahora, tú deberás seguirlo.” _

 

Kirk handed over the shell and disappeared forever, back into the darkest depths. 

  
  
  
  


 

 

_ ~Fin. _


	3. Chapter 3

Twas there she saw him, gorging on a man with claws that haven’t been run down in decades. Hair that was tied like a nuisance over his shoulder, eyes carrying scars only immortality could deposit. His face, the man lying there choking on blood, Bekka noticed instantly. Convicted rapist, murderer,  _ criminal _ . 

 

“Doing the Gods’ work, are we?” 

 

The siren hissed, ears flattened. “ _ What would a human girl know about the  _ Gods?” He spat, blood flying from sharpened fangs, “ _ abhorrent sleazes who lounge around their great beloved rock without a care for what happens down here _ .” The arm of the man came off with a single yank on the beasts part. 

 

Bekka shrugged. “Well. Kletos, son of Amphitrite, son of the seas; I guess that depends on who you decide to be.  _ Tlaloc, _ or  _ Kirk Langstrom. _ ” 

 

Kirk jolted. A snarl and the siren lunged for the woman, who sat with her toes in the lake waters like she wasn’t five feet from the great beast of the deep. He made it not those five feet before a force like the stomp of a hoof knocked him backwards, and she lifted no finger. 

 

“ _ Witch _ .” he panted, dragging himself out of the water. Bekka grinned, tapping her temple.

 

“Siren.” She replied, cocky. Kirk grumbled low. Forgoing his magic. She read him fine without powers on his part. 

 

“My name is Bekka. I’ve been waiting for you, actually. Mind if we talk?” 

 

Stories he already knew, that he already  _ lived  _ through. She spoke as if he wasn’t there, as if he never experienced the sheer agony of the tales passed. That man nowadays did not believe. They cared none for the malevolent and rather for sciences. That they were killing themselves. Bekka gazed thoughtfully on the faded scarf around Kirk’s neck, kept talking, kept reminding, kept bringing up those memories.

 

_ A white man, caught raping one of the boys. Right by the beach. Right by Tlaloc’s domain. Kirk felt his form take on and the man was ripped to ribbons in seconds. He gifted the boy the man's ear, wrapped in his sinew to tie around like a necklace. A brief prayer, a tight hold for the crying child, he called with his broken song and warriors appeared soon from the trees, rushing to their young and praising the God for his protection. Ahuatzi grew up to be a strong man, he carried a necklace of ears along his throat and tattoos of the water God on his chest, fought in his name, and died devoted. He reminded Kirk of someone, once.  _

 

_ A bird; a hummingbird. Caught in the pull of the rapids and drowning out in the oceans the river fed. Small bones gifted to a dying woman, elderly and sick, a feather placed atop her grave to blow away with the coming wind and her soul to follow it wherever Quetzalcoatl wished it to fly. _

 

_ The death of gangs and thugs who coveted the red pearls of the dead. A protection unto the weak and a curse to the cruel. A reminder of tears shed thousands of years prior that never fell again. A message Mercury would run around the world to deliver only to trip on the bloody marbles.  _

 

_ A single death. A shipwreck, a fire, a spear. Whalers and murderers, pirates and plunderers. A blue cloth tied tightly around a wound far greater than a cut.  _

 

“- _ And yet, that of which you speak carries nothing but hurt, witch. To which I suggest you cease your speech or risk my fury,”  _ Kirk bristled. Bekka politely quieted. 

 

“But you do see, don’t you. You remember the times long past and you question what caused it, and you try prevent it even today. But you are suffering, Kirk Langstrom. Your heart is dead and gone and lies with the deceased who have already returned to the earth.”

 

“ _ So what if I do? So what if a monster prays night and day to anyone who may listen for his life to return? To live forever is to die a million times, and all of them left me when he did. _

 

“ _ I am allowed this pain. This vengeance. I am allowed to protest my fate and wish for a better ending.” _

 

“Then let me give it to you.”

 

A year of spent love, renewed, reciprocated. The witch shared that which Kirk had thought lost, immortality, suffering, defeat. To end the curse, to place blasphemy on Poseidon, drinking the blood of his love and in return mortality. For Bekka, to be drained by a beast. Two last lovers and their last ditch effort to be at peace.

 

She spelled the waters to allow her to breathe them in, swam with Kirk like a remora to a great white, shared salty kisses yet never replaced the hushed memory of  _ his. _ Could never attest to the phantom pain graced there.

 

Aphrodite hid the souls from Hades and his brothers. Bribed Charon and fed Cerberus the deadliest bait. Turned night to day and sent Nox and Thanatos back into the underworld. Ushered the soul of her children into a plane of existence where they could neither live in agony or in pleasure. Emptiness. Darkness. Nothing. If he could not be with Hernan for eternity, he would cease to exist for it, instead.    
  
  
  


 

And so Kirk accepted death like the last drop of wine from a poisoned chalice.

  
  
  
  


 

 

  
© _ Woodkid - I Love You, 2013. _


	4. Artwork by SDSlanderson

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**Author's Note:**

> My entire heart goes out to those who have read and enjoyed thus far. Your comments, kudos, bookmarks and subscriptions mean absolutely everything in the world to me. I'd like to part with just a few words:  
> Follow [SDS](http://sdeeys.tumblr.com) on Tumblr for more absolutely astonishing artwork.  
> Follow [me](http://zer0kaji.tumblr.com) for incoherent ramblings:  
> And consider buying me a [Ko-Fi](https://ko-fi.com/O4O86LC7) to support me, every dollar makes a difference.  
> Special thanks to my absolute dear of a beta, Kiru, because she's adorable and I'm thankful every day.  
> Thank you, and have a wonderful day~


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